


Samsara

by itsyu



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), captain america: civil war - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Grey Fox!Tony, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, Tony Stark's mind is his worst friend, Unapologetic mangling of myth and mythological entities, Young!Loki, horrible inconsistent chapter length
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsyu/pseuds/itsyu
Summary: Tony is in bad shape after the events of Civil War, and a science vacation in Asgard seems just what the doctor recommended.Of course, Tony Stark's vacations tend to be anything but relaxing. When memories can't be trusted but an old enemy can, what is one to do?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for itsfrostironsfault @ Tumblr for their support, patience and lovely art for this Bang! Art can be found at end notes :) Hope you all enjoy.

Loki stood in was was left of the rainbow bridge. As he looked up at the sky, a cold, accepting calm finally washed over him. The air was thick with sooth, fire and smoke, purplish clouds overshadowing most of the stars he had so often watched during his life.  Only a handful of the brightest starts could be made out.

Overhead, he caught sight of the small cluster of stars that made up the Friggerock. One in particular seemed to twinkle at him, briefly, and then grow duller once more. Loki closed his eyes. He could imagine his mother standing by his side, with details enough to nearly feel her physically there. The way her golden hair had always been beautifully made, not a strand out of place.  The faint smell of lavender and spice, with just a hint of magic, her magic, which his own so perfectly echoed, a mixture that had always screamed home at him.

He tried to remember what she had told him once, when he was not longer a child and not yet a man, after a particularly complicated bit of mischief had rendered all the serving wenches long, flowing beards and all the valets the ability to only speak in highly flowery prose.

Frigga had scowled but she had laughed; she had always laughed as his pranks, to Odin’s irritation.

(He idly noticed the tremor beneath his feet grow closer. He paid it no mind.)

_What had she said?,_ he wrecked his mind. Her voice had been soft as she disciplined him. Too soft, perhaps; now he wondered whether she had known what had prompted the prank. The servant’s japes at how the younger prince seemed given to the womanly arts; how unfavorably he compared to his brother, even then already thick bodied like an ox and proficient at the sword, while Loki, bird boned and slight, spent his hours at his mother’s skirts practicing magic and reading.

(The prank had been as simple to resolve as it had been complicated to inflict; most of the beards were gone the same day, to disappointed exclamations, the many flowers and beads the women had woven into them falling to the floor as they dissolved in magic. It had taken the men longer; it was rumored there was still at least one servant from that day, who to this day refused to speak, falling for a mute, rather than derive enjoyment from such an unmanly thing.)

He opened his eyes as he finally remembered.

_Sometimes, my son,_ Frigga had said, running a hand through Loki’s then shorter hair, sounding fond _, I feel as though you might bring about the end of the world for a laugh._

Loki’s eyes fell upon the twinkling star as he felt the warm, putrid breath at his back. The beast made no sound. It knew Loki wouldn’t run.

He saw the star glint once more, and was gone.

***

Thor watched, bemused, as Tony checked the integrity of the many boxes he had brought along to Asgard. As he did so, Tony spoke at a mile a minute, the All-Speak failing every few words as it was wont to do when Stark got technical, mentioning the scientific impossibility of travel by Bifrost, wondering at the materials of which it was made, asking Thor to translate the many runes and then not waiting for an answer, and more. Heimdall had stepped outside, citing the need to fetch servants for their belongings, but Thor heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “overwhelmed” as he exited. The irony had seemed to be lost on Stark.

Still, Thor found the incessant yammering somewhat comforting. When Thor had found the normally ebullient man, alone and broken and aged, it had been a shock. Tony had forced nonchalance at Thor as he spoke of the “falling out”, as he put it, with the other Avengers, but the smiles had never reached his lined eyes, and Thor hadn’t missed the way his hands clenched as he spoke or rubbed nervously at his chest.

Thor had been dubious, at first, of Jane’s suggestion that he take Tony along on his next trip to Asgard - the All-Father had finally given Jane leave to visit to study their skies and constellations , and Thor had been eager for a second try at getting Odin to accept her. He had become much more open to the idea of Jane in the last few years; word around Asgard was that the loss of his wife and estranged son had made the All-Father softer for his remaining child.

Jane’s mother, however, had received a broken arm from a badly calculated yoga pose merely a few days before the day of their trip. Thor had offered to reschedule, but Jane had been adamant that she wanted the data as quickly as possible.

The fact that Jane’s mother opposed vehemently to Thor and would complain loudly and viciously whenever he was around might have had an influence into her haste to be rid of him.

She had, then, suggested Thor ask Tony. He was one of the few people who would be able to learn how to use her custom made equipment in such short notice, she had said, and she trusted him to collect the data she needed. There had been more to her reasons, Thor knew, having watched her become increasingly more disturbed as she followed news and received information from Hill about the in fighting regarding the accords. Jane liked all the Avengers well enough, but Tony had earned himself a particularly soft spot. Thor wasn’t sure what had caused it - Tony’s clear respect for her intellect, the offer of his own private lab once hers had suffered a particularly destructive malfunction, the fact that he was always willing to pick up her calls at 3 a.m. after her team had all succumbed and she had need for someone to help her troubleshoot whatever she had been working on - but a soft spot it was.

And so Thor had asked Tony whether he would be interested to be Jane’s proxy and accompany him to Asgard. Tony’s reaction had startled Thor, truth be told - it was the first real smile he had seen from the man since he arrived.

Blinking back to the present, and seeing Tony still engrossed in checking possible damages to the cargo from “being slingshoted into space, what the hell, how is that even possible”, Thor decided to step outside.  Heimdall was taking far too long and perhaps he would be able to glean the reason for his delay, but his train of thought was quickly cut as he saw what lay before him.

It was Asgard as it had always stood, he knew rationally, but something felt... strange. The sun glinted high in the sky and warm on his skin. He had forgotten the city capable of shining so, the spires of the castle appearing almost as freshly molten gold. It seemed that, in every recent memory he scrounged up of Asgard, the city had been stuck in a nearly endless twilight. How had he not noticed this?

He was about to call Tony, to urge the man to share in the splendorous view before him, when he noticed another presence.  
Standing a few feet to his side, indolently sitting with his back against the Bifrost in a spot of shade, was Loki.

Thor felt himself freeze despite the warm sun on his skin. Loki’s eyes made contact with his, and he smiled, pushed himself slowly up, a movement that looked almost lazy if not for the precision with with it was executed, and walked towards Thor.

“Loki? What....?” Thor asked dumbly, as he watched the other man. His eyes were glued on Loki as if he would disappear if he looked away. Once Loki was out of the shade, Thor was able to see how different he looked from the last time he had seen - younger. Despite his shock, his mind tallied the differences. Fewer lines in his face, and hair that hung straight and loose to his chest, much longer than was strictly acceptable for a man fully come of age; no armor but Loki’s favored version of the seiðmenn’s typical long cloth coat, tailored across the chest and arms and hanging open and loose around his legs; all in a fashion Thor hadn’t seen grace his bother for a few centuries, at least.

“I came to greet my returning brother, of course," Loki said, after what felt like an eternity but was barely a moment, smiling easily. A true smile, not the maddened replacement Thor had grown used to in the last few years. At Thor's incredule look, he huffed, rolling his eyes, and added. "Fine. Mother tasked me with warning her of your arrival. She would see you in her rooms at your earliest convenience." At the word, Thor felt the blood rush back to his extremities, quickly turning from ice to lava. His hand clenched tightly around Mjolnir's handle.

"Mother...? You would jest such?" Thor asked, his voice trembling with barely contained anger. Loki seemed to not notice it.

"Oh, brother, I know I will always be her favorite, but Mother still has some affection for you," he teased, voice dancing, a smile on his lips. "I must warn her, then, of your arrival." Loki bowed in an elaborate, slightly mocking curtsy, and, in a glimmer of gold, shimmered away.

Thor stared silently at the spot where his brother had been.  His nails had been black, Thor had noticed, as they had often been in their youth. Loki had been extremely bookish and studious, he remember, bringing books to meals and spending nights in the libraries, and his preferred type of ink had a way of staining his nails for days that drove Frigga insane. Loki had finally cheekily taken to charming his nails completely black so “Frigga wouldn’t have to see the stains”. She had had to work hard at hiding her laughter and pretending anger.

“What the hell?” Thor turned to see Tony standing at the Bifrost’s entrance, hand gripping the door-post firmly. Thor had no idea how long he had stood there. "I thought he was, y'know, dead? Also crazy. And a psychopath. But, mostly, dead?"

"He was," Thor said, voice somber. "As is my mother." This seemed to shock Tony, who let go of the door-stop and stepped towards Thor. His voice was softer the next he spoke.

"So, you think this is, what, a trick? A trap?" Thor shook his head.

"Even if Loki had somehow survived, he would not stoop so low," said Thor. Seeing Tony's look of disbelief, he shook his head, again, sadly. "I know my brother is a madman and vicious, Stark, but if he prized and valued something in all our lives, it was mother. Even he still held some things as sacred."

"Look, Thor, I know you believe that, but..."

"Enough," Thor said, in a voice that brooked no argument. "I value your council, man of iron, but this is a matter of Asgard, and here, my word is law. Be on your guard, but do nothing until I say so. I will investigate what is afoot."


	2. Chapter 2

Tony _liked_ Thor, he reminded himself. Even if he was the most cock sure individual Tony had ever met - and that was saying something - Tony had a soft spot for the man. He was a great drinking partner and a better listener than one would imagine. Also he hadn't tried to cave his chest in with the shield his own father had made.

In fact, from what Tony had gathered, Thor had been quite displeased with the actions of the now rogue Avengers. He hadn't expected Thor to be the one to understand what Tony had had to do, but now he knew it made sense. Thor was a prince after all, and a heir to a whole realm, had been taught diplomacy and ruling from birth. He understood that there was no running away from duty, understood personal sacrifice for the big picture and, after his exile, accountability. He understood the magnitude of being a representative, in a way that Steve, for all he had been a political symbol for decades, had not really lived.

So, yeah, he liked Thor fine, or better, even. Staying locked, alone, for hours, in an unknown room with the looming knowledge that there was a superpowered, vindictive demigod roaming around freely, who could at any minute decide to use Tony as target practice for magically powered projectiles if his fancy struck, however, was not helping in maintaining that state of things.

Tony wished, not for the first time since he arrived, that he had brought the suit. Thor had told him there was no need, in no uncertain terms - he was a foreign visitor, after all, and arriving heavily armed was hardly diplomatic - and Tony hadn't opposed. There wouldn’t have been much of a point to it. The suit was though and could take a lot of damage, but not even it could take being hit repeatedly with a blunt object made of solid vibranium without some deformation.

Unfortunately for him, the suit’s arc reactor lay precisely above where his own had been embedded in his chest. He probably should have changed that in the new designs - there was no reason for it but branding. Too late for that, though. As it where, the suit had caved and pressed against the titanium prosthetic rib-cage he had received to maintain his chest from collapsing after the removal of the arc reactor. The prosthesis had somehow stayed intact, but the bone it was anchored to had taken the blunt of the damage. Doctor Cho had given him two options, when he finally accepted that a month of sharp pain with each breath could not become the new norm, and sought her out. Surgery, again, to replace and reinforce even more of his ribcage with synthetics, or having patience and praying experimental bone and cartilage regrowing drugs might somehow be enough to resolve it. No painkillers, had been decided, because even if Tony could be particularly uninsightful about himself sometimes, it didn’t take a genius to see the possible outcome of an addictive personality, probably-depression-with-a-generous-dash-of-anxiety-but-not-touching-that and opioids.

Tony wasn't one for patience, much less praying, usually, but he was even less for yet another open chest surgery, least of all due to the very real risk of his mistreated heart stopping halfway through because of the anesthesia. It meant he was banned from his suits, undue exertion and anything that could put pressure on his chest for the indefinite future, but, with the team dismembered, it hadn’t seemed like that bad of a trade-off.

Until now. He would take the chances, just about now.

Failing the sudden appearance of a fully functioning Iron Man suit, Tony was left with the age old activity for such situations: pacing. He had tried to avoid it - hated being a cliché - but the room held very little to hold his attention.

Unpacking only to find himself skipping town the next second didn’t seem like an option - he could leave all behind, surely, but Tony was very aware of how Jane felt about her custom made equipment. He had tried going through the shelf of books besides the bed, but he hadn't even been able to glean which language they were in, what with the strange squiggles they had been written in. Even so, Tony had stared at them for a while, but in the end not even Tony Stark was smart enough to osmotically learn a language like that. Further investigating also revealed a full wardrobe of suspiciously accurately sized asgardian clothing, which, _huh_. Going through the pieces had hardly distracted him, however, and soon he was back to pacing.

He calculated the square footage of first the rooms, them the volume of each individual pieces of furniture - precisely - as he paced, in what he knew was a futile attempt to keep his mind busy. Letting his thoughts drift hadn’t been a good idea lately - more often than not it led to reliving of conversations, flashbacks and a sickly familiar shortness of breath that had nothing to do with the state of his rib-cage and _certainly_ nothing to do with the panic attacks he was definitely cured from.

The pacing did mean, that when there was a knock on the door, Tony happened to be standing right next to it, and opened it as if on instinct, ideas for how to determine what the strange golden metal the walls were made of on the forefront of his thoughts.

It didn’t help that the person on the door turned out to be the last one he would have wanted to see, though exactly the one he had been expecting - Loki.

He didn’t seem to be in a fit of murderous madness, however. In fact, he bowed deeply before he spoke.

“Tony Stark, apologies for coming unannounced; however, I must confer with you on an important manner,” Loki said, his voice even and face blank. Wordlessly, Tony moved back to allow Loki entrance, his eyes never leaving the man.

Contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark knew about manners. He was the son of Maria Stark, after all; he knew the proper form of address for every gender, marital status, age, social and political standing and more, and in over 10 languages too; he knew proper dinner table etiquette for a myriad of cultures, western and eastern; he knew more about the social implications of sartorial choices than most fashion editors.

He knew a fucking lot about manners.

He just didn't think they were more important than knowledge.

Like tact getting in the way of understanding exactly what was going on.

“Where the fuck is Thor and what the hell are _you_ doing here?” he asked, reaching for the closest blunt object, which turned out to be a flimsy brass sculpture of a flower that felt like it would bend under his fingers should he apply too much pressure. Shit.

Loki did not seem perturbed.

“Thor is with Mother still; he made it clear in no uncertain terms I should leave so he could converse with her in private,” his voice was cool and even - too even, Tony realized, noticing the way Loki’s fist clenched by his side. “And this pertains to what I want to discuss. My brother is given to fits of temper, so I thought it might be the case for his behavior upon his arrival, but I have never known him to be mistrustful... even when he should,” Loki added, almost in after thought. He walked the room as he spoke, turning his back to Tony freely, even though he still had the (innefectual) sculpture clutched in his hand. “Never before had he looked at me - _at the_ _Q_ _ueen_ \- with such open anger and suspicion.” His voice broke briefly when he mentioned the queen, revealing pain, before he got it back under control. He turned to face Tony once more, his green eyes blazing. “And you - at first I thought perhaps you had heard some manner of unsavory things about me, or perhaps came from another culture with inexplicable hatred for seiðrman... But now, as I stand here, the way you talk and look at me is not as if you know _of_ me, but as if you _know me_. And I have certainly never met you before." He smiled thinly. "I am sure I would recall." Tony didn’t understand what was going on, and he knew from experience antagonizing Loki was a bad idea, but something about how Loki had said it - slyly, hinting at something Tony didn't even want to consider - threw his caution to the wind.

"You threw me over 100 floors to my death, jackass," Tony said, letting the anger flow freely into his voice.

And Tony knew Loki excelled at manipulation. He still remembered being played like a pawn rather vividly. But there was something about his reaction, about how his whole body jerked backwards, his eyes and mouth widening a fraction simultaneously, that just screamed earnest.

"How could I? As I said, I have never met you before - much less been to Midgard. How...?" His voice trailed off.

"FRIDAY, give me a few clips. Coded: Invasion of new York; Loki," Tony said pulling his starkpad out of his pocket. Maybe he had loaded up on all things Asgard before coming. He knew it would pay off.

He held the translucent device between them, watching as a series of clips played in succession, most taken from hacked security footage, but some from Tony’s personal files. A grainy video from the S.H.I.E.L.D. base were Loki had arrived. His conversation with Tony, in much better quality. Him sitting in the hellicarrier's Hulk proof cage.

As Tony watched the footage, he also observed the other Loki before him through the translucent screen. He couldn't quite brush off the differences between the two; while the Loki who had invaded had looked crazy and horrifying, this one looked merely horrified. That wasn't to mention the obvious age gap - this Loki was much younger, lacking the lines that already etched the others face. The way his face blanched progressively as he watched also sent Tony into deep cognitive dissonance.

"That is not me," the Loki before him said, weakly, when the video ended, with a rather poignant clip of the other Loki stabbing Thor. Never let if be said that FRIDAY didn’t have a flair for dramatics. "There is a resemblance, I understand, and that Thor called him brother, but I have no recollection of any of this. I have people who will attest I have never even come close to Midgard!" His voice was frantic. Suddenly, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he seemed calmer. "You must believe me."

Tony looked at the man - kid, really, _no, don’t -_ standing before him. He knew many must have fallen for this - Thor himself had said Loki was vicious. Playing one’s emotions was probably second nature to him.

“So, that is your plan? To confuse us and lure into some sort of, what, trap? Make me feel bad for you just for shits and giggles, is that it?" Tony asked, nastily, not bothering to hide his contempt. Loki flinched minutely, and pondered him for a long moment, eyes narrows in thought.

"I could say the same of you," he said, slowly, no real accusation in his voice. "The images you showed me could be manufactured somehow - I could do the same with magic without a thought. But if you are well versed in deceit, it is really a brilliant disguise. You carry your emotions like a crown - in display for all to see."

Tony was still thinking of what to say when the doors to the room were unceremoniously thrown open to show Thor.

"Loki? What are you doing here?" Thor asked, stopping in his tracks suddenly, but the distrust Loki had described was nowhere in sight, at least from where Tony was standing. Thor sounded simply - tired.

"I simply meant to check upon your guest to ascertain all his needs had been met, as I was unsure how long you would be with the queen and supper approaches" lied Loki, smoothly, _too smoothly_. Having seen the emotional response the video had drawn from him just moments before made his blank face seem almost waxen. "Everything appears to be in order, and as such I will take my leave and send a servant with a meal, if you please." Loki did a strange half bow, hand crossed over his chest, and then turned swiftly on his heal, leaving quickly before Thor or Tony could say anything.

"That's good," Thor said, distractedly. Tony frowned. The other man's eyes had a strange far off quality, almost glassy, that he didn't like. "If that is taken care of, then, I must retire. I have much to think on. Good night," and with that, Thor also quickly turned and left, eyes never quite landing on Tony, leaving Tony stunned.

He moved towards the door to rush after Thor to demand a better explanation, but before he could cross the threshold, true to Loki's word, a servant with a very heavy laden tray of food arrived, blocking his path. Once the man had gone through, Tony exited the room and found no trace of Thor. He realized, belatedly, he had no idea where Thor’s rooms might be - or how to get anywhere in the castle or city. Leaving his rooms right now without a guide would only lead to him getting lost. He turned to ask the servant, but before he had a word out, the man had already briskly left the room, leaving Tony staring into a abruptly closed door.  

Feeling a wave of fatigue wash over him, Tony walked to the table and dropped into a chair, running a hand over his suddenly poignantly aching chest.

He allowed himself to give in to the weariness for a few moments and took a bite of the food that had been brought.

Idly, as he chewed the surprisingly flavorful piece of chicken-like meat, he wondered whether his dining arrangements were an exception or if he didn't warrant status enough to dine with the royal family - paradoxically, he knew he had too high a rank to eat with the servants.

Tony ate slowly, turning to the conversation he had had with Loki once the nourishment eased away the fatigue. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that, rationally, the opposite was more likely, something held him to the belief that Loki was telling the truth, or at least had been truthful regarding not remembering Earth. The number of times the stricken expression ran through Tony’s mind eye were more than he was strictly comfortable admitting.

Since it didn’t seem like he would be going anywhere anytime soon - the night had fallen outside already, and the servant that showed promptly to take the dishes once he was done remained dour faced and ignoring Tony’s attempts at communication - he decided to unpack some of the things he had brought, to keep himself busy. A miniaturized arc reactor, converted into a sort of endless powerbank, in case there were no fit sources of energy to charge his instruments around - which, indeed, there didn't appear to be. He set his starkpad to charge, glad nothing about the environs seemed to be interfering with the reactor functioning, and took out some of Jane’s instruments. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep any time soon, so he might as well make use of it.

While he set up a long exposure camera, pointed at the sky, on the balcony, he considered again wandering the castle, but the knowledge that he would not be able to get back on his own, since he guessed there probably were guest suites by the thousand, stopped him once more. He was also unsure of his ability to follow Asgardian etiquette on his own - Thor had given him some pointers, but Tony was pretty sure Thor got away with a lot due to being a prince. Tony was also very self aware of the extent of his ability of pissing people off. Which was fine and all when he was back earth, on his higher ground of money, fame and brains, but here he was a puny midgardian unknown. For all he knew, he could offend someone into challenging him into a duel for sneezing wrong, and he was extremely aware that, physically, he was no match for an Asgardian, especially with his current injuries.

Besides, breaking rules was no fun when you didn't know the ones you were breaking, he told himself.  

Once Jane’s camera was set up, Tony took some of his own instruments and started getting some basic measurements. He tested the water on tap, the air and radiation, finding them all pretty similar to that of earth, the air perhaps a little more oxygen rich. He also inspected the walls for hidden energy cable or similar and found nothing, though when he adjusted his instrument it seemed the very wall was conducting some sort of isolated current, though he couldn't tell for sure if it was electric or something else. It would explain why most walls were made of the strange, warm, golden metal, though.

He had decided to scan the books onto his starkpad - perhaps FRIDAY would be able to decript the language - when a new, more friendly servant came in to leave some water, wine and dried fruits "for the night". Deciding to take the change, Tony inquired after Thor - hastily remembering of tacking on a "prince" before the name.

"The prince has informed us he desires not to be interrupted in his time of reflection, sir," the servant said, somewhat stiltedly, before leaving after a nod from Tony. Tony frowned and wondered how long this reflection would take.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony was starting to understand that Asgardians had a different concept of time from him. Or, at least, weren't afraid to take their time with things. Every time servants came into his rooms - bringing food and wine, and to open the windows and tidy up - he inquired after Thor, and got the same tired response of " _The prince remains sequestered in his rooms and does not wish to be disturbed_ ". By the third day afternoon, Tony though he might go stir-crazy. He hadn't talked to anyone other than the tight lipped servants in days, and he was quickly running out of things to do by himself in this room. He had taken to reading everything he had brought on Norse mythology, which, granted, was a lot, but it got tiresome quickly. For some reason, even tales of Thor dressing up as a woman to get his hammer back weren’t able to brighten his mood. He was also planning some modifications he could do to his instruments to get a better reading of the strange current in the walls, but he would need some materials he didn't have at hand.

He had thought about simply leaving the rooms, of course. Repeatedly. A familiar male voice - he wasn’t admitting whose it was, no, _no way_ \- was always quick to remind him all the ways it could go wrong, accompanied by the damning familiar tightness in his chest.

It would remind him Thor had asked him to stay out of it. It would remind him what happened when he didn’t mind his own business, when he decided he knew best. It would remind him all of those that had been by his side and weren’t anymore.

Tony stayed in the room.

On the fourth day, Tony sat on the floor, starring at the now familiar golden walls. He hadn’t slept due to nightmares, and he had neared that restless stage of insomnia when one could, on occasion, shut one’s thoughts and think of absolutely nothing due to sheer exhaustion.

There was a measurable amount of relief in that.

When that day’s servant - one of the unfriendly ones - entered the room to open the windows and change the sheets, Tony initially ignored him. Only as the man was about to leave Tony brought himself to ask, almost mechanically, after “prince Thor”, the same inquiry he had repeated many times a day for the last few day.

This time, he finally got a different response.

"Sir, the prince remains in his room. I would like to remind you, however, you have been given free reign of the castle's library. It might be an interesting distraction until such a time as when he is disposed to meet you," the servant said. Tony blinked. He _hadn't_ known that.

"Could you take me there? I have no idea where it is," Tony asked, trying to suppress a wave of excitement. Not knowing what exactly was going on with Thor’s recently resurrected family made him uneasy, obviously, but the last couple of days had been frankly anticlimactic. He had half expected Loki to appear again, but he hadn’t seen or heard from him. With limited means to investigate it, it was no wonder he was beginning to simply grow very bored.

"I cannot," the servant said in the same bored voice, as he collected the used dishes. "I will, however, send a valet to accompany you to and forth, least should you get lost in the halls."

***

Tony followed the valet, who turned out to be as lively as his usual servants, through the castle. He had been stunned by the surroundings upon arrival, not even his fuming at Thor enough to dampen the experience, and apparently three days hadn’t been enough to reduce his awe. It wasn’t exactly his aesthetic - too much gold, for once - but he couldn’t help but admire the level of detail and grandeur, as well as marvel at the many engineering miracles that had to be necessary for some of the the construction to have been possible.

The library was no less grandiose. It sat in front of a large, busy square, plentiful with neatly organized flowers and crisscrossed with the ornate arches and fountains Tony was starting to associate with Asgardian architecture.  Once they reached the entrance, the valet spoke for the first time since he announced he would be Tony’s guide.   
”I will await here for you return, sir,” he said, in the stiff manner Tony was beginning to think was demanded as polite from servants.

“No need; I shall escort him back to his chambers once we are done,” said a haughty voice behind Tony.

“Prince Loki,” the valet said, nearly squeaking in surprise and bowing deeply. Tony turned to see Loki, staring at the valet with impatience. The man bowed once more and left quickly.

“I rejoice that you have accepted my invitation,” Loki said, offering a shallow bow of his head. “If you would accompany me?”

“Wh-?” Tony began, but a look from Loki curt him short. He had shed the superior air and now looked - well, tense was the only way Tony could think to describe it. He frowned, but nodded, and could see the relief wash over Loki’s features before he turned and entered the library.

Exactly as he crossed the threshold Tony felt the air become drier and colder. The sounds coming from the square were also abruptly cut out.  Tony felt an urge to stop and investigate exactly how that was possible, but the hurried look on Loki’s face and tense set of his shoulders compelled him to keep following. Tony noticed a librarian stand up to say something, but be silenced by Loki with a look. The woman shot Tony a dirty look once out of Loki’s sight.

Their footsteps rang out in the large, eerily silent rooms as they walked deeper and deeper each corridor had it’s walls covered in books, the ceilings tall enough to disappear from sight, and that, after some, would split into two or more new paths.  After a while, Tony noticed the path the followed was a slight descent; they passed enough crossroads that they were probably beyond the castle limits by now, possibly somewhere under the city. The air remained surprisingly fresh, even though some of the books and scrolls looked like they hadn’t been touched in centuries - which, Tony realized, was quite possible, given what he had gathered about the normal Asgardian lifespan.

Finally, they reached the end of the path, a strangely cave-like room that looked well and recently used, despite how remote it was.  It was well lit, with a large table in the middle, and piles upon piles of books littered almost filled the room, save for a couple of chairs and a bit of free working space on the tabletop. Tony could tell where someone had worked recently, a roll of paper spread with unreadable notes, several books open in front of a comfortable looking, pushed back chair.

Loki gestured inside and Tony acquiesced, despite the prickly feeling at turning his back to Loki. Once inside,  he waved his hand and a strange golden light shimmered across the doorway.

“Privacy spell,” Loki said, before Tony had time to protest. “It does not stop you from leaving the room, if that is your concern. There should be none around to listen - strictly speaking, very few people are allowed in these parts of the library, and even fewer have interests in this area’s contents - but one can never be too careful.” He moved books around as he spoke, clearing more space on the table and around a second chair.

“OK, great respect for your paranoia, 10 out of 10, but what the hell am I doing here, wherever we are?”  
”You may call this my study, after a fashion. And you are here to aid me in discovering what  has befallen Asgard, of course.”

***

As it turned out, Loki had spent the last few days investigating possible spells and curses that would alter memory on such a large scale, to little success. He seemed to be more convinced now, also, that the tampering had occurred on Asgard’s side, like Tony had said.  
”Thor has shut himself off in his rooms, but I was able to convince him to share a meal together, last night,” Loki said. As he spoke, he fiddled with the books on the table, changing their placement and then returning them back to their original spot. “He was... different. The mistrustful looks were gone, and he reminisced freely of past memories. When I inquired as to his dealings on Midgard in this past visit, he seemed to grow confused and changed the subject. Either he pretends, which my brother has never excelled at, or something slowly changes in him.” Loki stopped messing with the books and turned to Tony, running a hand through his long hair. “He is no longer the man that arrived here but he is not yet the man of my memories. And I know not how that could be.” There was a subtle edge of desperation to Loki’s voice.

“And what do you want me to do about it?” Tony asked, forcing some sharpness into his voice. There was something about this Loki - and it was very hard to deny it wasn’t the same crackling maniac he had met at the tower - that appealed to him, made him want to help. But no matter what his gut told him, Tony knew it could still be a trick, a trap. There was no real reason to trust him, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down so easily.

After all, it never ended well when he did.

“There is no one else I can go to,” Loki said, ruefully. “None seem to be aware of it, and I fear what may happen should whoever is responsible realize I am aware something is afoot.” Loki shook his head. “I may also yet be affected by the same process that shifts my brother mind - it may have already began, for all I know. Already do I not know which of my memories to trust. I need someone to tell me should this happen, someone to make sure I do not _forget._ ” There was a frantic, nearly crazed quality to Loki as he spoke. He had come to stand mere inches away from Tony as he spoke, enough that Tony could clearly see the minute golden flecks in the green of his widened eyes, enough that he was suddenly very aware of just how tall Loki was.

Had The Other Loki been this tall? Forcefully, Tony was reminded of fingers around his throat, the feeling of his feet leaving the ground. Yes, probably even taller. But something about all the structured leather, horned helmet and posing had actually worked against it - made it look like it was all a trick of perception. Meanwhile, the form fitting robes This Loki wore only emphasized his slenderness and length, making him strangely imposing despite the afflicted expression.

Tony was used to being the shortest - he surrounded himself with model like women and superhumans, how could he not - but still, there was something about the way Loki towered him that took his breath away.

Leftover alarm, he decided, from past interactions with The Other One, persisting in his lizard brain. Yeah, had to be it.

“Fine,” Tony finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll help.’

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

As it turned out, _help_ consisted mostly of sitting with Loki in the study nook, doing research. Which, in Asgard, meant reading books, since the civilization which invented intergalactic travel hadn’t bothered with anything more complex than a library card catalog when it came to information.

Tony had had a hard time hiding his contempt.

Loki had said he had gathered “a few books to start”. Tony hadn’t let the fact that Loki had indicated somewhere around fifty tick, dusty tomes piled as he said this dishearten him.

Of course, when it came to reading said tomes, Tony had been faced with the same problem as with the books in his room, as he had not somehow learned Asgardian overnight. When Tony pointed this out, after Loki pushed a tome towards him, Loki had simply rolled his eyes and reached across the table, touching Tony lightly between the eyebrows.

A strange warmth had entered him head from Loki’s finger, slithering until it rested behind Tony’s eyes for a few moments, gone before it became truly uncomfortable.

When he looked down, he could read the book. Surely, it looked a little strange - like the letters he could read were somehow superimposed over the page, but not on the page itself, and if he forced himself to focus he could almost bring out the shape of the runes behind them - but it would do. Tony had to admit he was thinking of too many possibilities and _hows_ to be particularly focused on the fact that _Loki_ had bespelled him.

“The librarians could change the book for you, but they have silly notions that one might only read a book at a time, so you would have to return to them with each new tome. This is more efficient,” Loki had said with some mirth as he observed Tony testing the spell. At the tidbit, Tony had frowned.

“I thought you all came with the interdimensional translator as a factory setting,” Tony had said, confused.

“Most, yes, but there are some who live and come to Asgard and do not have the seed of magic. And as such, they cannot all master the Allspeak.” Tony stopped to ponder this.

“So that means Thor can also do magic?”

“Have you not seen him summon thunder?” Loki asked, confused. “It was my understanding you were shieldbrothers.” Something uncomfortable stirred in Tony at the term, but he ignored it.

“Thought that was, y’know, part of the perks of the whole hammer of righteousness shtick.”

“No. Though he is very raw -  mostly, it reacts to his emotions. But there are those who have even less and are still able to use the Allspeak,” Loki had stopped to consider his next words, biting his thumbnail in thought in a gesture that would soon become familiar for Tony. “Elemental magic is.... well, elemental. Not much spark is needed to influence that which is already around you. The Allspeak is a level bellow even that; just opening oneself to the truth behind words. Of course, some have more or less control over it.”

“Ah,” Tony had said, coming to a realization. “Is that why the servants will barely say two words at me?” Loki tensed slightly.

“Possibly,” he had said, cautiously. “Though some do not enjoy the company of those not of Aesir blood.” His voice sounded bitter, “as I well should know.” Tony frowned. He searched back, remembering something Thor had said in one of the first times they had spoken. Still not a very good excuse to invade another planet and murder a bunch of people, but learning you are not of the same... species?... as your parents would come as quite the shock, probably.

“What are you then?” Tony asked, unaware of the discomfort in Loki’s features. He took in the long hair, slight but tall built and, of course, magic, and came up with the logical conclusion. “An elf or something?” The discomfort was quickly replaced with a dry laugh.

“Hardly,” Loki said, and his tone was bitter. “I am Jotunn,” the word was pronounced in that strange accent that sometimes slipped into the conversations, something Tony had taken to interpret as the Allspeak failing to translate something. Loki was looking at Tony expectantly.

“Oh,” Tony said, remembering what he had read about Norse mythology the last few days. “Are those... Frost giants? Thought asgardians and them didn’t see eye to eye.” This time, tony didn’t miss the way Loki flinched when he said _‘Frost giant’._

“Jotunn or jötnar is preferred,” Loki said, dryly, making clear who preferred it. Tony wondered briefly if maybe the expression was a slur in Asgardian or even Jotunn culture. “And, no, they do not. They are, in fact, mortal enemies for the most part.”

_Ah._

 Tony was still thinking how to phrase his next question when Loki broke the silence.

“I would have thought Thor would have shared this; specially if I was... an enemy.”

“He only implied the shitfit-” Tony couldn't bring himself to say “your”, thought he wasn’t quite sure why, “was because you found out you were adopted.” Loki frowned.

“I wasn’t adopted,” Loki said, steadily, in that overly controlled manned Tony was beginning to know very well. “I am a hostage.”

***

“OK, FRIDAY, you ready?” Tony asked, fighting the urge to fiddle with the starkpad positioning one more time. It was placed on the table between Loki and Tony, so the frankly up-gradable microphones  would be able to register both their voices.

“I would say no, but you built me, so you would know it to be a lie,” FRIDAY said, tartly, and Loki’s eyebrows rose. Tony wasn’t sure it was because he was amazed wit the amazing intelligent program Tony had created, or because of the levels of sass he had imbued into FRIDAY. Probably the latter, Tony acquiesced.

“You know it,” Tony said, with his best stage smile to Loki, who was still looking unconvinced. The idea was simple - FRIDAY would register whatever Loki told them of his past and cross-reference it with what data they had on The Other Loki and, why not, myths, to try and pinpoint the disparities.  Loki himself was skeptical, though not as one would expect. He had no problem with Tony’s method and no distrust for the technology, though he had seemed obviously intrigued when Tony showed him FRIDAY; it was Tony’s hypothesis, that the divergence was much further back than a couple of years, that Loki wasn’t sure of.

“Alright, sob time is go. From the top, darky locks.” Loki shot him a look that edged too much on amused to be truly frightening, and began, his voice taking an oddly melodic quality, almost as if he was reciting poetry.

“Many centuries ago, the Aesir and jötnar were at war. It was not the first time, but Odin All-Father was determined it would be the last. To reach his goal, he destroyed the Casket of Ancient Winters, the main source of power for the jötnar, as well as the only thing that kept an otherwise frozen, lifeless planet capable of sustaining life. Without it, the jötnar were starved and rendered powerless and conceded defeat.

“A truce was settled between the All-father and the Jotunn leader, Laufey. His people would swear fealty and Jötunheimr would be placed under the All-Father’s sway and protection and his magic would allow the world to continue living. Not as before, but enough so the jötnar would not be lead to extinction.

“Of course, the Aesir consider the jötnar fickle and untrustworthy. There would have to be a token of trust, something to maintain them in their best behavior. So, the All-Father demanded a Jötun child for a ward, one of Laufey’s own get. Laufey had had one son, Byleseir, who died during the war. Any child from him would, to Aesir eyes, be the heir to Jötunheimr.

“A generation, and another, went by and Laufey had not yet fulfilled his part of the treaty, in an attempt to have Odin forget there had ever been an agreement. But the All-Father does not forget, for Muninn does well to remind Odin of what he is due. So the All-Father returned to Jötunheimr to remind Laufey that a bargain had been struck and, if broken, it would result in the removal of the All-Father’s protection and magic. The land would die, and so would Laufey’s people. Lacking any other choice, Laufey agreed he would provide the promised child before the dark season had come for the eleventh time.

“It is said that, for the majority of time, Laufey traveled Jötunheimr in the search of the right mate, until, after years, he found what he desired. The smallest, weakest jötnar of the realm. The child, as desired, followed suit. A runt, by all standards. By Jotunn custom, it would have been left in the temple to die, an offering to old, less merciful gods.” The use of the third person didn’t faze Tony; he remember, when he was a child, a particularly concerned teacher trying to use it as a strategy to get Tony to admit to problems at home. It hadn’t worked, but he had himself slipped into it on occasion. 

“It was a message, of course. The child was no heir, it’s destiny would hold no sway over Laufey’s behavior, but enough to fulfill the promise, if not it’s intent. Odin was incensed, but it had been his own promise the child would be taken care of, same as the Asgardian prince, blood of Odin’s blood.

“Odin lost interest in the child immediately, but the All-Mother in all her compassion, took pity on the fosterling and adopted him, raising him besides her own child, brothers in all but blood.”

“And Odin was... okay with that?” Loki smiled for the first time since he had began his story.

“The Queen may be soft spoken, but she is not meek. Her will is iron, and even the All-Father bends to her desires when she has her heart truly set on something.” His smile turned bitter. “The palace follows her command. They call me a prince, though there is no such title amongst the jötnar, and though, as the Queen’s, but not the King’s, adopted ward I should barely earn a place in court. They do not express their distaste at my heritage where she may become aware of it, and when they do, it is never in a manner grave enough to warrant complaint from me.” Loki closed his eyes and sighed, weariness flashing briefly across his features. “Whatever it is, you may ask, I shall not be offended,” Loki said, focusing his eye on Tony.

“I, just... You don’t exactly look like a runt.”

“The jötnar are usually well over 10 feet tall, at the least,” Loki explained. “From what I was able to gather, Laufey’s mate,” Tony noticed he did not use the word ‘mother’, “was part vanar, which would explain my diminished stature.” Loki smiled nastily, and Tony was briefly reminded of the Other Loki. “It is funny, in a sense. Laufey deemed her weak for her physical attributes, but the Vanar are the people in whose very veins magic flows. And so, I, who was born a sorcerer, was given freely like waste, though Jötunheimr starves for magic more and more each day.” Loki sighed again. “But the done is done and cannot be changed. Did you apparatus register all that was necessary?” Tony’s eyes scanned the complex matrix FRIDAY had generated. There were several inconsistencies, color coded in levels of discrepancy, but nothing definite. He would have to research some more precise information to be sure. He could ask Loki right away, of course, but he was oddly reluctant to do so; the kid looked shook, though he was trying hard not to show. Tony was reluctant to dig even more into the wound just then.

Specially since the data indicated what Loki seemed to be in denial of; whatever was going, went back much further than a few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case the embeded link doesn't work, art depicting Loki's study can be seen here: http://itsfrostironsfault.tumblr.com/post/153389052852/even-the-books-are-shippin-them-please-do-not
> 
> :)


	5. Chapter 5

They spend every waking moment, and some should-have-been-sleeping ones, of the next few days in Loki’s nook, in the library. Tony soon picked up on the strange duality of the relationship between the librarians and Loki. They were clearly indignant of how the younger prince made himself at home in the premises, caring little for whether patrons should be allowed to access certain parts of it, working hours, and the proper proceedings to require a specific tome. They were also clearly fond of him, in the same slightly patronizing but not unkind manner older people sometimes have toward unruly small children. The same stern looking matron who scolded them for their hours would later bring them tea, with admonitions to keep it far from the books.  Tony was able to gather Loki had spent a good deal of his time with books, ever since he had been able to read, and that such behavior was not exactly the rule.

As such, Loki had an impressive knowledge of layout of the library and the books therein. The ones Tony had seen littering the study were but a small part of Loki’s list of tomes that might aid them in some manner.

Loki had divided the books of interest in four loose categories: books on memory altering spells, those on illusions and some on possibly relevant prophecies. There was also a much smaller pile of “undefined” books, all of which were somewhat nasty looking and Tony was warned not to touch.

After their discussion of Loki’s past, Tony had also suggested they add recent history books and whatever they had that was similar to a newspaper. He was sure that whoever was messing with people’s memories wouldn’t have time to wipe all records of the past.

Loki had looked unsure - Tony could see that he still had reserves about Asgard having been meddled with as a whole - but had acquiesced and procured a few choice tomes on the subject, along with monstrous tomes of the full history of Asgard and few very old ones on what Loki had called simply “myths and creation”, though he had denied were related to religion. It was unlikely although possible something similar had occurred in the past or had been foretold, Loki had said, though his voice didn’t carry much confidence.

It was just as well that he did, because it turned out that Tony reading magic books was a wash. Though he might understand the words now, the meaning remained as hidden as when they were made up of the strange rune-like symbols. Tony had expected to find that, much like science on earth, magic books had an at least somewhat standardized language to refer to the same things. But mages, sorcerers, or wizards, or whatever the fuck they called themselves, it turned out, all enjoyed being cryptic bastards. Loki had snobbishly said it was a matter of security - magic was too dangerous to fall into the hands of the uninitiated - but Tony didn’t buy it. The plethora of ciphers, metaphors, riddles and, on a memorable occasion, use of whole new alphabets every few paragraphs could only be due to the excessive amount of time those who lived for thousands of years had on their hands.

So Tony had turned to the history books, which, thankfully, as flowery as they could get sometimes, were at least written to be understood. He had created yet another column on his spreadsheet of Lokis, to compare and contrast what they had with what he found.

***

Tony closed the book with enough force that the librarian in the front desk had probably felt a sudden wave of inexplicable discomfort. His theory had quickly been refuted when, book after book, the details of Odin’s rule and the royal family’s life remained unerringly the same, in accord to what Loki had told him. So, somehow, whoever was messing with Asgard, was powerful enough to alter all the historical accounts in the royal library. _Great_ , Tony had thought. Why did his vacations always end up the same?

He had turned to the spreadsheet, intending to fill out the missing information he could, but this had also proved frustrating. For all Asgardians historical accounts could be mighty detailed - Tony could probably draw a perfect representation of the beading on Frigga's wedding dress - they could also be infuriatingly vague. The "age" column in his spreadsheets was the most objective one indicating discrepancies, but he still hadn't been able to find anything remotely resembling dates in any of the books.

Tony rubbed angrily at his eyes, causing white dots to flood his vision. There were more books he could check - it appeared there were _always_ more books in the endless library - but Tony couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. He could feel what promised to be a nasty headache coming - the translation charm was handy, but the words it generated didn’t seat neatly on the page, but shifted almost like the image in an old CRT TV with a bad connection, causing his eyes to strain unpleasantly as he read.

“Perhaps we should take a break?” Loki asked, softly, and when Tony looked, he had long index finger rested against the page, marking the line he had been reading, as he searched for a page marker.

Tony grunted in assertion, letting his body slide down the chair. His back hurt from sitting for so long, and his ribs twinged unpleasantly as he moved. He’d had to cut down exertion and exercise to a minimum and he could already feel the effects of the loss of muscle.

Loki beckoned him out of the room, undoing the wards with a wave and a shimmer of  gold, and Tony followed him through the long corridors, silently. He unobtrusively tried to stretch his back as they walked, but a miscalculated move caused him to grunt in pain. Loki turned to look at him, worry in his face, but said nothing.

“So, where are we going?” asked Tony, finally, when they reached the library doors.

“Here,” said Loki, easily, moving towards an empty bench. With a elegant twist of his hands, a basket appeared in them, out of thin air. “Lunch,” Loki said, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his lips, at Tony’s surprised face.

“How...? You know what, some other time,” he said, in defeat, as he sat down on the empty end of the bench, and took a strange but appetizing looking... bread? He took a bite in silence, as Loki did the same, watching the movement of people in the apparently always busy square. He couldn’t not notice many seemed to be looking at them and muttering, sometimes giving them a wide berth. Nothing Tony hadn’t lived before, though, so he brought his attention back to Loki, who was daintily ripping pieces of an strange, overgrown mushroom, that Tony had never seen before, and eating them. Tony noticed Loki had taken the only container filled with the things for himself, though he had waved an offering hand over all the other foods for Tony. He filed it away for later consideration.

“So, do you people have a problem with the idea of accurate record keeping?” he asked Loki, after another beat of silence

“Pardon?” Loki asked, blinking up at him. His fingers stilled in the air, halfway to  his mouth.

“These history books. Lots of waxing poetic about golden hair - does Asgard hate brunettes or something? - not a lot of hard dates. Is there some sort of royal edict against writing down the year something happened?” Loki continued to look at him for a few moments before understanding seemed to hit him. Tony had seen Thor do the same frequently - he had always thought the man could be a little slow sometimes, but now he wondered whether the All-Speak took longer to translate some concepts.

“Ah,” Loki said, and set down the morsel he had been about to eat. “You have never seen a picture of the entirety Asgard, I assume?”

“Er, no,” Tony frowned at the non sequitur as Loki set the container he had been eating out of aside, and picked a cloth napkin. He waved a hand over it, and an image appeared, an image from space, more specifically. In the middle, what he assumed was Asgard - more like an asteroid than a planet, a flat piece of land with a city atop it and ending in waterfalls. Tony could make out the Bifrost in on end, and the castle at the very middle.

“Asgard is not a planet per se,” he said, moving his finger in a way that cause the image to turn. “More of a magical construct. How that came to be is of little importance,” he waved his hand when Tony opened his mouth to question it. “But I assume you can understand the implications for time keeping?”

“No seasons,” Tony said, after a moment of cramming down the screaming voice telling him it _wasn’t possible_. “No natural cycle of time other than days? So... no years.” Loki nodded.

“And as you can imagine, counting days can become rather cumbersome, specially given the Asgardian lifespan,” he shrugged. “The Vanar calendar is used to mark the anniversary of important  events, and guilds of time-trackers if one is interested, but the use of a calendar,” the word sounded strange in his mouth, weirdly accented, “is not usual.” Tony blinked. That seemed needlesly confusing.

“And how do people keep track of their affairs? Deadlines and thing?”

“They hire time-trackers,” Loki said, like it was the most obvious thing, rendering the napkin blank once more with an unconcerned shake. “There are also contraptions for marking days gone and come,” he waved his hand and another image appeared on the white surface, a neat line of jars filled with colored pebbles, each labeled with a different event. “Most Asgardians think in time in a relative manner, as cycles - so many days since the last, or so many days until the next, and this many cycles since the first time - and, as such, it most do not logical to write down time elapsed, as it is ever-changing.” Tony shifted in his seat. The control freak side of him was itching at the idea. He preferred not to dwell too much on it. “Why are you interested in such manners, any how? What information are you looking for, exactly?” Tony scratched his goatee, thinking how to explain this.

“You age, actually,” he said, irritated he had left the tablet, and thus the spreadsheet, behind. “Like you must have noticed, the Loki who showed up on Earth looked considerably older than you.” It was Loki’s turn to shift uncomfortably, looking around at the passer-bys. With a gesture from him, Tony stopped talking and waited. Loki closed his eyes, took a deep breath and said something intelligible, though the effect was clear. A strange dullness in his ears, like they had been stuffed with cotton, and the air around them became strangely blurry. Probably another privacy spell. At a nod from Loki, Tony continued, doing his best to ignore the blatant use of magic. He started to understand why some Asgardians might be somewhat disturbed by Loki, if magic was some sort of taboo.

“From what we understood he was pretty close with Thor in age, and that was something past a thousand earth years. But you don’t look the same age as him, and if that is changed, somehow, than we are looking at something other than meddling with memories, because how do you even do that?” Loki blanched.

“You must have been mistaken; I am much younger than Thor,” Loki said. His face had gone blank again, in the telltale sign of nerves Tony was becoming familiar with.

“ _How_ younger?” Tony asked, starting to feel nervous himself. It _couldn't_ be.

“If Thor is a thousand of your earth years, I would probably be around...” he seemed to focus for a moment, doing the math. “Around 700, probably.”

”Are you sure?” Tony asked, throat suddenly dry.

“I would need more precise dates, but thereabouts.”

”Well, then we have a problem,” Tony said, “because people on earth have been worshiping you for much longer than that.”

***

They had checked and double checked. Loki had gotten books - as usual - and then called the castle’s time-tracker, and then a specialist on Midgard (though Tony had to say the man had been woefully misinformed about some things). The age they had arrived at hadn’t improved. Loki was, specifically, 682.

“Perhaps it is a coincidence,” Loki had provided, weakly, after finally giving up on crunching the numbers. Not even finding he had apparently been worshiped as a god had put a dent in the dejected mood that had taken him. They were back at Loki’s study, but he hadn’t seemed eager to pick more books after they had arrived at a conclusion regarding his age.

“Too many same named people, I’m afraid,” Tony had said, uncomfortable himself. He still hadn’t found a satisfying explanation, and that made him nervous. The best he had come up with was that somehow Loki was glamoured into a younger version of himself, but he had a pretty good idea of how that idea would be met by the other man. “I always figured it was some sort of, well, gossip, kinda, or maybe like a game of telephone - someone else came to Earth and told stories of the young princelings and it got blown out of proportion and distorted. There were actually plenty of theories from anthropologists and whatnot, once Thor made himself known and people realized he wasn’t exactly the guy from the tales. But... there’s no way around it, the dates don't line up.”

“Perhaps seers, then? They might have misinterpreted the vision to mean we were gods,” Loki suggested, perking up some. Tony felt something uncomfortable twist in his stomach. He had “accepted” magic, as it were, but seers was- just too much.

“Well, they seemed pretty confident you would give birth to a eight legged horse.” Loki blanched.

“Sleipnir?” Tony winced at the horrified tone in his voice.

”That’s the one. Also a wolf, a horse, a snake and a couple of other delightful creatures involved in the end of existence?” Loki somehow, managed to blanch even more.

The rest of the evening passed on a somber tone, though Tony tried to keep up the optimism. At least they had found something. It should be a step in the right direction, right?

Loki didn’t seem to think so, and later, as he walked Tony back to his rooms, remained silent and dour faced.

The moods didn’t improve when Tony, after so long, spotted a familiar blond head, standing almost a foot taller than those around him, in the other end of a busy hall.

“Brother!” Thor said, his strong voice carrying over the distance as he waved. Tony made to walk towards Thor, when he felt a hand grab his wrist, stilling him. He looked confused at Loki for a moment, and the other man face was blank, though the firm grip denoted nerves.

Tony looked back at Thor, only to realize what Loki had already noticed.

Thor was continuing his way along with his companions. His eyes flashed once more towards Loki and him, and at that moment, they made visual contact.

Only for Thor’s blue eyes to slide easily over Tony’s face, no spark of recognition.

Thor didn’t remember him.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Tony had thought the discovery of how deep what was going on went, along with Thor’s complete oblivion of Tony, would have spurred them on, driving their search for answers.

Instead, the days, and eventually weeks, mounded. For all the desperation Loki had shown when he asked Tony for help, the urgency seemed to somehow ebb away. It felt off, _wrong_ , but Tony couldn't quite grasp why, and, eventually, the sense that this was something that should be solved quickly too left his mind. Maybe he had gotten used to the Asgardian concept of "hurry", he had thought one day, and brushed it off.

His days were far from unpleasant. The books, though sometimes repetitive, were interesting, the history and mythology of Asgardian culture intricate and fantastical, and he enjoyed reading it, even if social sciences had never been his forte.

The company was pleasant, too. It hadn't taken long for Tony to realize the confident, confrontational act Loki put up around the palace folk was just that. The Loki that he shared his days with was much more subtle; less likely to confront, but quick to tease,  in good humor though not without sharp wit. They would take breaks, during which conversation would flow freely. The habit of sharing meals formed easily, either at proper times or after being kicked out by the librarians, often on the square in front of the library. More often than not, Loki would conjure them something, which would inevitably lead into discussions on magic versus physics. Loki would spend hours teaching Tony about the nature of things and how Asgard saw existence, knowledge so extensive it betrayed the years he had actually lived, despite his youthful appearance. Tony, never to be outdone, would then teach Loki about human technology, and the things he had invented. Some of those had existed in Asgard - long deemed obsolete - but he was also proud to say a lot had never been though up - either from lack of need or imagination, though he would, of course, argue the latter.

Tony found himself thinking about Earth less and less. At the start, he had been worried. He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by on Earth - days were longer in Asgard, which his body had welcomed, but meant keeping track was complicated. And for all he wasn’t Iron Man anymore, nor SI’s CEO, but he still had responsibilities - people who counted on him. But then again, his brain had supplied, weren’t they better off like this? Pepper would probably be glad of not having to worry constantly about him, to be rid of the guilt he knew she felt whenever she saw him look less than stellar. Rhodey wouldn’t need his help anytime soon; they had designed his rig together, and so he knew it inside out; the sensors embedded in his spine were difficult to service in case of a malfunction due to their placement, but they had been designed to last and had more failsafes worked into them than the iron-man armor. He would probably be glad not to have the reminder of the choices that had let to him needing the rig in the first place around for a while. Vision could come back any day, but Tony doubted it would be anytime soon. He had probably joined the others by now; Tony was sure he wouldn’t resist searching for Wanda for long.

The others... well, they had made it clear Tony wasn’t needed.

So he let it all slide his mind - earth, his worries, the heartache - and threw himself into helping Loki.

Eventually, he was done with the books Loki had procured for him - and then the next pile, and then the next. Eventually, he learned enough of the library’s layout to be able to explore on his own, and Loki didn’t seem to mind. He found books that that had increasingly less to do with what they were after, but were increasingly more interesting - science, inventions, tales of advanced and long fallen races. Loki never mentioned it, and Tony wasn’t sure he was still searching for answers. Maybe he should take it as a sign it was all one of Loki’s ploys - though he can’t think that, doesn’t anymore, really - but he couldn’t help but feel that if it was some sort of long game, he would probably be dead of natural causes before the mischief part arrived.

And he would never tell Loki this, but he had taken to considering that whatever happened might not have been the worst thing. Both brothers had their mother back, and the Loki Tony had grown to know so well was a far cry from the maniac he had met in New York. Being forgotten by Thor had hurt, but wasn’t Thor happier now? Maybe it was for the best.

Tony didn’t think of Jane, and how she might feel, though he still adjusted the equipment and recorded the data daily, almost a ritual.

It was peaceful.

And then everything had crashed.

***

Tony couldn’t pinpoint what set the nightmares off, after so long of peace, and though most of them were very familiar - _drowning, not being able to breathe, the vast emptiness of space_ \- some were new, too - _melting away like a sandcastle met with ocean waves, being taken apart piece by piece like a machine, coming undone until there is nothing left_. He had thought it was an isolated occurance, at first; maybe an reaction to Loki becoming strangely avoidant for no reason he could distinguish as of late, but soon, they became a nightly ordeal.

Tony woke, after one such night, lungs burning, bruised ribs, and a constricted throat that nonetheless tasted like salt water.

It was still dark out. He hadn’t slept through the night in days, and the strange, jittery feeling that had been growing with it wouldn’t leave him anymore. Swinging his legs off the bed, one hand cradling his ribs carefully, he glanced at the balcony, but the glimpse of the usually beautiful Asgardian sky was enough to bring forth the memory of cold, empty space and falling. He shook his head, as if trying to physically dislodge the memory and stood up carefully, not quite managing to shake the unreasonable dread pooling in his stomach.

He decided to go to the library, knowing Loki would probably be there.  At the same time he had started to withdrawn from Tony and into himself, he had seemed to acquire new determination to discover what had happened, and had begun to spend every waking hour, and then some, in the library. As the days passed, the dark shadows under his eyes grew, as well as little tics and nervous motions that hadn’t been there before.  He also began pushing Tony away, dismissing him from the library after only a few hours spent together. The free time hadn’t helped his anxiety, which seemed to grow with every minute he spent in his own company. He had began regretting not bringing any sort of sedatives with him, though he knew well the reason of his choice.

When he arrived at their - Loki’s - study, Loki was already there, and Tony stopped shy of tripping the wards that would warn Loki of his presence, and watched. Loki seemed calmer now, or at least engrossed enough in a familiar looking, gold gilded tome to forget whatever had him on edge before. The tension on his shoulders had diminished, even as he sat in one of the strangely acrobatic, uncomfortable looking positions he favored - one leg drawn up so he could rest his chin on his knee, the other folded under him, one arm hugging his knee and the other elbow resting against the table, long fingers tapping against his temple. The frown of concentration Tony knew so well had returned, and it shifted minutely as Loki twitched his fingers without thought, causing the page of the book to turn itself.

Tony could feel the anxiety that had been humming in the back of his mind, like an badly isolated electric current, die down as he observed Loki, engrossed.

One thing he had learned in his time in Asgard, but that still managed to stump him, was that Loki, to put it simply, _was_ magic _._ He wasn’t like Wanda, who had been given her powers as an adult and still fought them every step of the way. He wasn’t looking to show off or make others uncomfortable when he used it even for the more mundane of tasks - it was simply what came naturally to him, like using a limb one had been born with. He could no more forgo his magic than Tony could forgo his intellect. Taking the magic away would be akin to severing one of his arms, Tony knew intuitively, or worse. It would make him hollow. Less.

It was something that, more than being in Asgard itself, more than all the extraordinary people Tony had met, than emphasized the sheer impossibility of the thing Tony had done and seen. Even Thor hadn’t had this effect on Tony - tall, blond and with a penchant for talking funny, he had subconsciously ended up lumped together with Rogers, another oddity, but a scientific one. Explainable.

There was nothing explainable about Loki.

As if finally sensing Tony’s presence, Loki looked up, eyes bearing into his instantly. His shoulders moved in and up with clear tension at the sight, and Tony felt his own restlessness return tenfold. Overcome with a feeling of dread, he stepped into the room, feeling the now familiar tingle of the wards admitting him. He didn’t miss the way Loki hurriedly closed the familiar book.

As he saw the cover, Tony remembered why it seemed familiar. Loki had found something on it, some prophecy that mentioned the all-mother's passing. Loki had read a piece of it aloud - it would mark the beginning of the end, children would no longer be born, Asgard would succumb to twilight, many people would perish and then the Ragnarök would come, all pretty standard fear mongering from what Tony could gather - and then stopped, closing the book quickly and saying he would peruse it at another time. Loki had seemed pretty affected by it, at the time, but had refused to discuss it further, and hadn't mentioned it again. Tony figured something like that would be pretty devastating to someone who actually believed in seers and prophecies, and forgotten about it.

“It’s good that you are here,” Loki said, standing up, and his voice lacked the warm edge it usually had, feeling strangely steely. Tony felt a shiver of apprehension. “I need to talk to you.” He didn’t motion Tony to sit, Tony noticed dully.

“What about?” his voice felt strange to his ears, the bitter taste in the back of his mouth prominent.

“I.. must apologize,” Loki said, and his eyes didn’t quite meet Tony’s, staring at a point behind his head instead. His face had taken that blank quality Tony had grown to hate.

“What about?” Tony asked, shifting uncomfortably. He was usually the one doing - trying - to apologize, not the other way around, and he had no idea what Loki could be talking about, but it didn’t sound good.

“For keeping you so selfishly,” Loki said, his voice still hard, none of the kindness of the words seeping through. Tony felt his browns draw in in confusion. “This matter is my problem, not yours.”

“Lo-,” Tony began, but was cut off.

“Surely,” Loki said, voice dry, “you have matters of importance back in Midgard.”

“I want to help,” Tony said, voice sounding small to his ears over the strangely loud beating of his own heart.

“You can’t help me,” Loki said, more coldly than Tony had ever heard before. Tony felt his hands begin to shake, and clenched them into fists, willing them to be still. _Not now._ “I was foolish to think the contrary. What could a Midgardian aid in the matters of Asgard?”

_This is familiar_ , Tony thought, bitterly, as his visioned tunneled, darkening around the edges. It _had_ been foolish, after all. What else could he expect? To _help_?

“You will go,” Loki continued, turning his back on Tony. “I will warn Heimdall and the servants. You will return to Midgard today.”

Tony felt his throat tighten, his knees going weak. He felt a strange urge to laugh. He had really thought he was _over_ the attacks. Pepper had saved him, hadn’t her?

Not even Pepper could save him from his stupid self, though, he though, noticing idly he had slid to the floor.

He had been _fine_. Even when he received the stupid phone, he had been _fine._ But then the phone hadn’t rung, Rhodey hadn’t miraculously recovered, the pain in his chest hadn’t cleared and he learned of Dr. Cho’s prognosis, Vision had left and Pepper had been clear it - they - were _done_ and it had hit him. It had just... _hit_ him. What had really happened - that there was no easy turning back. The Avengers were done - or least, done with him, he had discovered, when news of a rogue group had began to surface. They hadn’t needed him, to non-one’s surprise but his own.

Things had changed, and for the worse. As they always did, because all he touched became death and ruin. Now he was alone, only his mistakes to keep him company.

Who would want someone like _him_ around, after all?

His chest burned from the lack of oxygen, or maybe it was his heart finally giving out. Perhaps him ribs had caved in - the way he was hugging himself tightly couldn’t be good for the deteriorated bone.  There was cold sweat dripping down his neck and a familiar numbness on his chest and arm.  He was dying.

_Finally_ , the treacherous voice in his head couldn’t help but notice.

Tony barely registered the hands on his shoulders and chest, nor the shivering current of magic probing him. He did, however, when it turned warm and calming, bringing his breathing and heart rate down. The darkness receded from the corners of his vision and he felt himself calm down.

“What did you do?” Tony asked, hoarsely, eyes trying hard to focus on Loki but to little avail. They felt heavy, a wave of inescapable fatigue washing over him. He managed to focus on Loki’s worried face for a moment before his eyes closed themselves and he was engulfed in darkness.

***

When Tony awoke, he was in an unknown room. Still clearly Asgardian, though the typical golden walls were replaced with more understated dark bronze, which still held the same metallic appearance. The sheet covering him was light and soft, possibly silk, much unlike the heavy, somewhat coarse blankets in his own room. He was not in a bed, he noticed when he tried to move, but a settee big and supple enough to not matter.

“Don’t move,” came a voice from his left. It sounded strangely dull, like Tony’s ears were filled with cotton. Tony’s eyes sluggishly followed the sound to find a concerned looking Loki walking towards him. Behind him was a large armchair with a pile of books at it’s side, where Loki had clearly been sitting before Tony awoke.

“What happened?” Tony asked, vaguely annoyed to find his voice slurry.

“You stopped breathing,” Loki said, and his face was paler than usual. “I tried to find the cause with magic, and thought it might be due to the damage to your chest, but healing that didn’t seem to ease the problem.” Loki was standing awkwardly to Tony’s side, and Tony briefly wished he would sit, since looking that far up was making his neck hurt. “I then realized it was probably a... nervous affliction, and performed a calming spell.”

“And why do I feel like I dug into Bruce’s special stash?” Tony asked, feeling strangely dissociated. Idly, he noticed his chest didn’t hurt anymore when he breathed. He couldn't quite remember why it had hurt in the first pace. Something about mentioning Bruce also felt strange, but he couldn’t place quite why.

Loki’s cheeks had turned pink, Tony noticed. It made him smile.

“In my haste, I unthinkingly used a spell normally reserved to calm beserkers after battle,” Loki said, avoiding Tony’s eyes. “As such, it’s strength was ill suited for a mortal.”

“Ah,” Tony said, eloquently. “Feels nice.” His eyes felt heavy again, and he let them fall shut. Without sight, his perception was filled with the softness of the sheet between his fingers, as well as the familiarly spicy smell that seemed embed in it. There was something comforting about the smell, though he couldn’t quite place what.

After a few moments, Tony felt hesitant fingers touch his hair lightly. It felt nice, so he said nothing.

“Who did this to you?” Tony heard Loki softly mumble, through the thickness of his ears.

“Ah, y’know... Friends,” he answered, through a yawn, though he wasn’t sure why he said it. If Loki said anything back, he didn’t know, because he was soon fast asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

When Tony woke next, the strangle high was gone, and the lack of pain when he breathed was the only thing that made him realize the last time he awoke hadn’t been a dream, though the memory was still fuzzy and he wasn’t sure where the exchange had ended in reality.

Tony half expected to be back to his rooms, but he was met with the strangely dissonant bronze walls in what he now realized were probably Loki’s private chambers. He sat up slowly, mindful of his ribs, only to realize it was unnecessarily. The pain was completely gone. Hurriedly, his fingers flew to his ribs, where the platinum met bone and one could feel a ridge if they knew what to look for. It was oddly calming to realize that hadn’t changed.

Tony looked around the room, taking it in. It was far from the evil overlord lair he would have imagined in the past, though it didn’t match what he had seen of Asgard so far, either. There was no looming black and silver and monstrous sculptures and skulls, but the colors were more subdued; bronze instead of gold, dark woods instead of marble and metal. There was a surprising lack of green, though the sheet draped over Tony was a pastel shade of olive.

There were, as Tony wasn’t surprised to notice, lots of books, piled on a desk and by the - empty - bed. The whole room was in the state of contained disarray he had grown used to from sharing space with Loki, things placed not where they _should_ go for them to be properly tidy, but according to an internal logic that only Loki understood. It was, Tony had to admit, a pretty similar system to his own, though, ironically, perhaps less chaotic.

It was probably this “lived-in” quality of the quarters that prevented tony from noticing that Loki was in the room more readily. Loki was back at the armchair to Tony’s left; the way his body fitted to it, even in sleep, was a statement of how often he had probably fallen asleep in the exact same place. It made an unsettling picture; for all Tony could see his personality in details all around them, the rooms seemed to belong to someone much older, and Loki, while asleep, managed to look even more impossibly young. Tony was forcefully reminded of his own graying temples as he watched, a strange pang at the realization.

Loki’s hair was mussed from sleep, betraying it would probably have a wave to it if left natural. His face, smooth with the typical concentration lines not yet permanently lined there, fell to the side, exposing a long, pale neck made even longer by the uncharacteristically deep neckline of Loki’s shirt. The sleeve of the arm propping up his head had ridden down, showing the rare sight of a very delicate wrist. His clothes, for once, were simple and unimposing: a white, soft looking shirt with the usual long sleeves, loose black pants. His slim, naked feet made the scene even more oddly intimate.

Tony felt a quaint wistfulness hit him. It almost made him laugh, though the bitterness that followed was enough to quell the urge before he made a noise. _Of course_.

He wondered if he’d manage to leave Loki’s rooms unnoticed, and then make his way to his own. Normally he wouldn’t believe himself capable of getting past the normally highly observant Loki, but the dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed just how deeply he was probably asleep. He wasn’t sure exactly in what part of the castle they were, but he had learned a great deal about it’s layout, and was confident he could - eventually - find his way back.

Tony felt a strange sense of guilt as he stood and observed Loki still asleep. He fidgeted with the sheet, folding it into a very lopsided square, half expecting Loki to wake up. But he remained soundly asleep, and so Tony left, pausing momentarily as he opened the doors to check for signs of stirring, but finding none.

He walked the unfamiliar halls, feeling strangely calm - he wondered briefly if this was some sort of left over effect from the spell. He knew, intellectually, that there was no reason to be calm. He didn’t understand Loki’s actions, though he accepted there had to be some ulterior reason to them, as his reaction to Tony’s panic attack had been quite telling. He didn’t seem to hate Tony, at least.  But he still seemed to want to be rid of him, and quite fervently at that.  The question was why.

He thought back on the previous weeks, finding his focus threatening to slip as he did so, but powering through with the focus of a determined genius. He soon found a problem - the way Loki had behaved, as well as Tony himself, had been extremely weird. Now he couldn’t quite understand how they had fallen into such a pattern - how the reason for they being there had simply been let got like that.

The familiar nagging returned with full force and, now, with nothing else to distract him, Tony listened to it - the way they had behaved wasn’t only weird, it didn’t make sense. There was no way the desperate man who had come to Tony for help had simply given up after a few days, content to waste his days with Tony in the library... why? Tony might not have known Loki for long, but he knew himself, and his own behavior had been no less strange. He remembered thinking he had no reason to return to Earth. That wasn’t him. Maybe he was miserable back there, but he didn’t back down without a fight.

The recognition came like a punch in the gut - they had been tampered with. Fallen to whatever had happened to the others, to what they had been chasing in the first place.

Tony couldn’t remember a point where it might have happened - a tipping point where he his behavior had suddenly shifted, nor any conspicuous blank moments where he might have been approached and his memory wiped. No, analyzing his behavior, he could see it had been a progressive change. How?

He noticed he had arrived at the wing where his rooms where located, though he wasn’t sure how. As he stepped up to his door, Tony felt unreasonably tired. He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking. Still, he ignore the bed and sat in one of the least comfortable chairs.

There was a lot he had to think about.

***

The next day, was the first Tony didn’t leave his rooms for the library as soon as he woke. He hadn’t slept, in fact, but, despite his initial fatigue, he no longer felt tired. He felt driven, for the first time in a long time. A good part of the night had been spent thinking, coming up with a plan - and then recording it with FRIDAY, telling her everything. Tony wasn’t sure how memories and records were being changed around Asgard yet, but he had a hope that maybe his earthen technology would be overlooked. He didn’t let the idea slip his mind, however, didn’t let his thoughts drift - he wouldn’t be led astray, not again.

He was in the middle of dismantling and storing Jane’s equipment - he had been shocked at just how many days of data he had gathered in his stay - when he heard a knock on the door. Expecting servants - it was perhaps around noon? He wasn’t sure whether they had come already or not - he ignored it.

The knock repeated after a few moments.

Tony blinked somewhat owlish at it, before moving to open the door. He didn’t remember to put down the piece of very delicate equipment he had been packing, and, thus, was still gripping it when Loki looked at him with concerned eyes from the door sill.

“I thought... you might have left,” Loki said, after an awkward moment, his voice low as almost to be raspy.

“No,” Tony said, dumbly. He cleared his throat. “As you can see. But I will, soon. I am just finishing packing, in fact.” It was true. The last of the equipment was fragile and finicky, but it was all that was left. Tony had debated taking some of the Asgardian clothes - to analyze the fabric, of course, no sentimental reasons - but settled on just a couple of extra comfortable shirts and the boots, which he currently had on. The rest he left.

Loki didn’t speak right away. Tony observed him, the strange residual calm that refused to let him react still firmly in place. Loki was a wreck, to put it simply - though one who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to tell. There were bags under his eyes, but that was the single compromise to his usual put together appearance. Little things betrayed his inner turmoil, however - a rhythmic twitch of his fingers, the way his eyes moved without fixating on a single thing, the way his shoulders were held.

“Tony, listen...” Loki said finally, though he didn’t continue right away. He closed his eyes and sighed, in defeat, his shoulders finally falling down with released tension. “It said... I’m... I’m the one who causes it.” Tony blinked, certainly not expecting... that.

“...what?” Loki sighed again. Tony moved back from the door, finally, and Loki took the cue to enter the room, looking away from Tony with something akin to relief.

“The... prophecy I found.” He elaborated, standing by the balcony, his back turned to Tony. His voice was barely above a whisper, but Tony heard it clearly. “ _The prince with no crown, born from a frozen womb._ ” Loki let out a dry chuckle. “Terrible poetry, to be sure, but unmistakable in its meaning. He - _I_ \- am the one to bring forth Ragnarök. The end of all things.”

“Oh,” Tony said, out of words. The idea matches the Other Loki, but this one? His Loki? He can’t see it. He can see in the way Loki turns to face him, this is not the reaction he expected, but Tony can’t bring himself to feel the despair that has clearly taken over the other man. He had never put stock in predictions about himself, much less prophecies; he liked to keep ‘em surprised.

“Is that all you have to say? I am to cause _the end of all existence,_ ” Loki said, stressing the last in a rather nasty manner.

_So don’t_ , Tony wants to say, but a thought gives him pause.

“Is that why you tried to send me away?” Tony asked, knowing the answer. His eyes were trained on Loki’s face. The light hit him straight on, leaving no place for him to hide the telling blush that crept his cheeks.

“I am not safe to be around. You know this - you've shown me. I should not want you to be unduly harmed for that. For wanting to aid me in this fruitless quest.” Silently, Tony walked towards Loki, until he was close enough to see the little flecks of gold that dotted the outermost of Loki’s iris. He really did have extraordinary eyes - Tony was pretty sure humans didn’t have eyes in quite that green.  Most "green eyed girls" Tony had met had actually had a mix of blues and yellows in their eyes that looked greenish in the distance, but didn’t hold up to closer scrutiny. Loki's however, were a completely unrepentant shade of green, a dark, rich one, almost the color of a good bottle of wine.

“I _am_ leaving,” Tony said, finally, when Loki shifted, uncomfortable with Tony’s intense gaze. “But not... I don’t want to. I _have_ to. I have to see how things are on Earth. What happened here could...” He closed his eyes. Why did words have to be so hard sometimes? “It was happening to me. And to you too. And it could be happening there too. I don't... I can't let it.” Tony took a deep breath. It hadn’t been his plan, it wasn’t, but with Loki standing in front of him... “But I want to come back. To help. See this through. I _will,_ ” Tony finished, emphatically, hoping Loki _understood_.

“Oh,” was Loki’s turn to say, staring blankly at Tony. He didn’t seem to understand what Tony had said - or rather, what he hadn’t said but suddenly wanted understood nonetheless. Taking advantage of the courage the leftover spell-induced calm granted him, Tony took another step and, in a swift motion, pulled Loki down by the front of his coat, angling his own face up to meet Loki’s in a kiss.

Their lips didn’t line up perfectly - Loki had resisted the pull less than Tony expected, meaning he had used too much force, causing a somewhat painful clash. The angle didn’t help - Loki was far too tall, even with Tony on the tip of his toes.

It was still perfect.

Tony forced himself to pull back. Now he was aware of it, he could feel the strange clouding of his thoughts - the idea, insidious like a siren’s call, that he could _stay_ , and be with Loki, and forget all this nonsense.

He shook his head firmly.

“I still have to go,” he told Loki, whose eyes looked slightly glazed. “But I will come back. Fuck this prophecy.” Loki seemed jolted out of whatever reverie had taken him, his eyes focusing laser sharp on Tony’s face.

“It’s not...”  
”If the next word out of your mouth is safe, I’ll make you sit through the video collage of my most idiotic lab tests FRIDAY plays when she wants to prove a point.” Tony said, voice light but firm. Loki nodded. Tony had to admit he was somewhat flattered by the dumbstruck look that hadn’t left the other man’s face since he had kissed him.

***

Leaving was hard. Tony didn’t want to, not really - he wanted to kiss Loki, and _touch_ and loose himself in him, which was exactly he couldn’t do, so he forced himself not to. It was difficult, but at least Loki seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion - thankfully, for Tony didn’t think he would be able to put a stop to it if the other man had tried anything. Tony did catch Loki making aborted gestures towards him more than once, however, which was more comforting than it had any right to be.

They made plans quickly - Tony would go, check on earth, and then he would call Heimdall, and return, after no longer than a week. What they would do then was much less clear. Tony didn’t bring up that Loki might succumb to the mind fog by the time he was back - he didn’t want to think of the possibility of being forgotten. He was confident he would be able to find something - or someone - to help on earth. Maybe Wanda - he did still have the phone, and perhaps by going into his head she could find who had been there before.

Standing on the Bifrost, Tony looked at Loki’s face, committing it to memory in detail. And then turned towards Heimdall.


	8. Chapter 8

For three days, Loki succeeded.

He woke, ate, slept. He wrote down what he knew about himself, about Asgard and the royal family’s history. He read books that told that history and reaffirmed what he lived and saw. He read books that might hold the answers to the strange force affecting Asgard.

When he felt himself being lulled away, the fog threatening in, he thought of Tony, he thought of Thor, a stranger, changing before his eyes into the brother he knew, and it brought his world back into focus.

For three days, he stuck to this routine. For three days, he resisted.

On the fourth, Loki gave in and visited the Bifrost.

He had told himself he would not do this. That way lay madness, he knew. There was a reason Heimdall’s post induced so much awe - many could be given the Sight if they had enough Seidr; barely any could withstand it, and none other than Heimdall could do it for so long, without breaks. Watching from afar, never participating, had a way of bending and breaking minds.  And Loki didn’t trust the integrity of his own on a good day.

Nonetheless, he had come; come to ask Heimdall to check on his mortal, for he could no longer stand not knowing what was happening.

It had been hardly heartening.

“There hasn’t been a mortal in Asgard for eons, Loki,” was Heimdall’s answer to his request to check upon their mortal visitor. Loki made himself calm, though he could tell Heimdall had caught his distress. _Let him think it a reaction to the lack of title_ , Loki thought, though he knew it a flimsy excuse. Heimdall had never bothered and Loki had never cared. They had never been particularly friendly - Loki often wondered why that was; maybe because one who could see it all would always naturally resent one who lived amongst illusions? - but they had a mutual respect that hadn’t faltered in centuries.

“Of course not; I meant he is to be a visitor,” Loki lied, easily, without pause. Heimdall frowned; Loki wondered, not for the first time, whether the enchantment that granted him the Sight permitted Heimdall to see beyond lies as well. “His name is Stark; Tony Stark, of Midgard, New York,” the place’s name sounded foreign in his tongue. Loki wasn’t sure that was enough for Heimdall to find Tony, but he hoped fervently to be the case.

“I see him,” Heimdall said, after a moment. Loki let out a breath in relief.

“What does he do?” Loki asked, knowing this was pushing the limits. Heimdall was a guard, not a spy, nor a peeping-Tom, his mother had often reminded Thor. But Heimdall must have heard something in his voice to make his acquiesce.

“He is alone; he drinks,” Heimdall paused, as if pondering whether to continue. “Heavily.”   
Loki felt as if his stomach was filled with lead; this could not be a good sign.

“Keep watch over him, Heimdall. He is to call upon you within the next few days; if he does, have me brought here immediately.” He hoped Tony hadn’t called already - he had left Heimdall with instructions, but he had clearly forgotten them. “Would you know if he already had?”  
”Yes,” Heimdall said, with a hint of disgust in his voice at the doubt. “Though I would not have answered, of course.”

“Of course,” Loki echoed, voice hollow. “Have his activities reported to me; I want to know if he does anything worthy of note.” Loki made his voice firm as he uttered the request; Heimdall had already given him much more leeway than he was warranted. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he had the feeling that showing weakness would cease the other man’s indulgence.

“As you wish, my prince,” Heimdall finally said, after a long moment of silent staring. Loki nodded and turned on his heel to begin the long walk back to the castle.

***

The next day, Loki was back to the bifrost, early as the rising sun. Heimdall observed him as he made himself comfortable, sitting with his books next to where Heimdall himself stood, but Loki merely stared back with a petulantly raised brow. Heimdall said nothing, for which he was glad. He had no idea how he could have explained his presence reasonably - Heimdall would surely take offense at the implication Loki thought he might forget to watch Stark.

Just as Loki was opening a book when Heimdall spoke, unprompted.

“Your friend had a visitor since you last came. A redheaded female. She ushered him to bed, where he still lays.”

“Is it night still for them?” Loki asked, trying to ignore the clenching in his chest. He was being stupid. He knew nothing of Stark’s life on earth, nor who this woman could be. He had kissed Loki - there would be no reason for it if he decided to simply go back to earth and another lover.

“No,” Heimdall answered, and volunteered no further information.

The day went by slowly; Loki could not focus on his books, and, after frequent prodding, Heimdall had begun alerting him of every time Tony changed activities. It did not help - Tony engaged in Midgardian entertainment; the redheaded woman made another appearance, and they discussed business; Tony began drinking again.

None of it, Loki couldn’t help but notice, seemed to relate to what Tony had gone to Midgard to investigate.

By night - Tony had by then spent hours drinking alone and engaging in verbal abuse of a seemingly sentient piece of machinery, and finally passed out - Loki could no longer deny the obvious. Whatever had affected the memories of those in Asgard, had reached Tony on Midgard. And Tony, well, Tony had forgotten.

***

The corridor that led to the Queen’s private chambers was usually a lively one; many sought the Queen’s council for all sort of matters, great and small, and she admitted them all. Even now, late as it was, people walked those halls after leaving the Queen’s company. Servants came and went for various reasons, bringing the Queen tea and sending word to the kitchens of orders for the following day’s affairs.

Loki knew much would be said of him being seen running to his mother’s skirts, looking distraught as he probably did, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Her main rooms, it turned out, were empty but for her when Loki was admitted. Somehow, the Queen always seemed to be alone when Loki needed her council. He was thankful for it, though he did not know exactly how she managed it.

“Loki!” Frigga exclaimed, with visible delight, her smile wide. She always lit up when she saw him, in a manner so genuine he couldn't help but feel a surge of love for her and smile in return.

She was not his mother, for all he called her that - he couldn't afford to live in that fantasy - but sometimes, deep down, he pretended he forgot that. She had chosen him, taken care of him, given him so much. She had sat by his side when puberty had brought with it fevers and incompatibility with his Asgardian form. When he had laid, bedridden, in his Jotunn form, servants terrified to near his quarters. She had sat by his side and taught him magic tricks, and brought him food, and her eyes had never shown fear or disgust.

He sometimes thought love too simply an emotion to express what he felt for her.

Her hand touched his face, pleasantly cool, and bringing him back to the moment. For all Thor and others called the queen "warm", to Loki, her hands had always seemed to be just on the side of cold, comforting in a deeper level that made him think of a home he had never known. He had never had the heart to inquire whether this was intentional.

“What troubles you, my child?” she asked, eyes soft and searching.

“I know not what to do, Mother,” Loki said, voice barely above a whisper, letting himself believe the title. He knew it pleased the queen.

“Always so serious, my Loki, heavy with weights unseen,” the queen tutted, patting the seat by her side. Loki sat on the overly elaborate sofa, mindful of not rubbing against the delicate embroidery, a second nature by now.

“Things are not right, not as they should, but others do not see,” Loki tried, eyes pleading. Maybe she had also noticed. Maybe he was not alone. Frigga looked at him with understanding, and hope blossomed in his chest.

“They never are, my child,” Frigga said, taking Loki’s hand in hers. “Who has wronged you this time, my son?” she asked, and Loki felt himself go cold with the familiar question. He shook his head, both at himself and at her. This would not work.

“Mother,” he began, hesitantly, hand still holding hers, eyes fixed on hers. “Do you remember dying?”

And for a moment, the hope he had felt earlier was back tenfold. He watched as the queen’s face went from confusion to realization, and for a moment her eyes widened, and she clasped Loki's hand painfully. _The queen bore the Sight_ , Loki remembered fervently; perhaps it was enough to break through whatever enchantment was placed on their minds.

But as quickly as it came, the same glazed look Loki was now hatefully familiar with, took over. Where there had been emotion, her face became an unsettling blank, eyes drifting away from Loki's.

“Mother?” Loki asked, deflated.

“Oh, Loki, you ask the strangest questions. Even as a boy,” she said. Her voice sounded - wrong. Loki watched as she stood up an busied herself with tea that had already been brewed and poured. He noticed her startle when she moved to drop leaves into a kettle and found it already full. Her voice was still off as she began telling a tale of Loki's childhood that sounded  unfamiliar to his own ears. As she spoke, however, he could almost feel the memory forming, like remembering but not.

The fact that she doesn’t notice the way Loki tried to keep his face carefully schooled into polite interest, nor when he failed, told him all he needed to know.

His last hope was no more.

***

The idea hit him as he walked away from the queen’s rooms. His previously shuffling feet stumbled in the hurry to reach his destination.

It was risky - more than that. But it was his only chance. There were no more books to read. Tony wouldn’t be coming back with a miraculous solution to the problem. No one else in Asgard seemed to be even aware there was a problem.

Loki found the book easily - too easily. He would have been incensed at this at any other moment; the knowledge it possessed was far, far too dangerous to be lying around. Now, however, he was glad.

Idly, he realized it was a book he had read not ten days past; he had thought of using the knowledge back then, but the idea had slipped his mind like water on oiled parchment, never taking hold. He felt the urge to shudder. The idea of having his mind affected like that unsettled him.

Preparations for the ritual were quick - he had most of the necessary materials at hand in his rooms.

The ritual itself was longer. The chant, the sacrifice, the plea. There were other ways, other paths, but this was the easiest - and, thus, the most dangerous.

He threw the last pinch of powder into the fire, but even before it hit the flames, even as he intoned the last words of the chant, he _knew_. The energy gathering didn't match his intent. In his hurry, he had not cleared his mind and emotions, and now it was too late. He couldn’t stop the spell in the middle or he would risk bursting with unused energy, taking half the castle with him, but he knew.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

He closed his eyes, resigned.

Loki felt a pull at his navel, and darkness.  


 

 


	9. Chapter 9

When Loki came to, he wasn’t sure how long had passed, nor whether he had truly been unconscious or if whatever he had seen had been too much for him to comprehend, leaving his mind blank in it’s wake. His insides felt like they had been removed and put back together by someone with only a vague understanding of Jotunn anatomy and a few spare parts.    
The room he found himself in was dark and grand, but not gloomy; the walls were of a shimmery dark rock, polished into an almost mirror like surface. Crystals droplets hung from the ceiling amid fairy lights , giving off the impression of both a starry sky and particularly pretty stalactites.  The air was cool enough that Asgardians might feel the need for cover, but it felt pleasant to him. The whole room did, in fact, comforting in a odd sort of way that he was sure other might not agree with.

"I see I was right in my timing; I feared I had waited too long,” came a voice behind him. A tall, dark haired woman stood behind him, her hand placed lazily on the top of a comfortable looking armchair. Another like it was turned to face her. She gestured it with her free hand, in a clear beckoning motion. Loki observed her as he slowly approached. Her features were as fine as the rich dress she wore; she might have been referred to as lovely by some. As he approached, he noticed very fine lines adorned her face, white enough to barely stand out against her pale complexion. He felt a peculiar feeling as he traced the lines with his eyes before he realized what they meant; heritage lines, echoing his own.

“What am I doing here? I was meant...” Loki asked, as he came to stand behind the chair offered to him, but did not sit. The woman sat across from him, her posture in the simple armchair royal enough to turn it into a throne. He looked away as he spoke, looking for exists in case of necessity, and felt his breath cut out from him abruptly. He was sure that, when looked away, in the split second when she hovered at the edge of his sight, her beautiful face had been replaced by something sunken and rotten and dead.

“To contact the Norns, yes, I know,” she said, with a dismissing movement of her hand. She seemed to pay no mind to his startle. “That, however, would be terribly unwise. They do so hate being disturbed, and well, they do dearly hate you, Father.”

“ _Father_? What? _Who are you_?” Loki gripped the arms of his chair tightly as he spoke, confused. The woman closed her eyes and for a moment her face was weary, before she collected herself, flashing him a sad smile.

“Of course, you wouldn't remember... Maybe next time... It’s always a bad sign, but at least there is happiness and love, if only for a while,” she mused. Loki stared in confusion. She sighed, and then seemed to draw herself up in confidence, fixing him with a powerful gaze. “I am Hel, and this is my domain. Not quite as glamorous as Valhalla, certainly, but every bit as vital, even if the bards do not seem fit to remember it.

“And you, Loki Laufeyson, sometimes Odinson, sometimes Silvertongue, runner from fate, trickster and god of chaos, are my father.” She smiled sweetly at Loki’s dumbfound expression.  “It is a rather long story. Do take a seat.” Loki did as he was bid, never taking his eyes from Hel’s face.

“In the beginning, before the wheel started turning and when things were only once, you were my father and I was your daughter. I was born to a sickness, however, and would not last. You despaired in look for a solution,  the All-Mother wept for your loss and the All-Father suffered for her pain. In the end, I was given this realm and the hearts of those suffering were calmed. All was well.

“But fate was cruel to you for many more times, father. I don’t know if by chance, or if the Norns somehow foresaw what was to come even if they could not see it. Tragedy followed, and embittered you and your many children. A prophecy had been made and a prophecy, eventually, was fulfilled.

“There was a small matter, however. When I was brought here, the Norns were taken with me, for they were not dulled to their own cruelty to children back then. I convinced them into a deal - easy, when they knew not yet better than to make deals with the line of Loki," she smiled a conspiratory smile.

“It was a simple deal; I would mind this realm and the souls housed by it until they ran out of thread for their tapestries, and in return I would not be made to take you into my halls. It was a childish desire, and I thought myself rather clever; a means to guarantee my father would only be taken by a hero’s death.  I knew not of the prophecy back then, but the Norns thought it a simple way to avoid Ragnarök, for they too were young and rebellious and had no desire to see the world die.

“But childish desires are not enough to stop the threads of fate, and the prophecy was fulfilled. However, word is law in the netherworld, and I could not admit you to my halls even if I so desired.  With your entry here and in Valhalla denied, things became stuck. Time could not move forward, and a new cycle could not begin until you had been sorted.

“A new deal was struck. They agreed to turn back fate and give you another chance. At a happy life, and not to be the harbinger of the end of times. We figured it would be easy, you see. Huginn and Muninn agreed to assist,” she said with a careless wave of her hand towards an unlit fireplace. Loki’s eyes followed the gesture and, after a moment of confusion, was able to make out the silent ravens standing in the mantle, their glossy feathers nearly indistinguishable from the glistening rock of the walls. Their red eyes seemed to penetrate his soul as he made eye contact and he shivered; they had always unsettled him.

“Assist?” Loki asked, weakly, speaking for what felt the first time in a long while. His thoughts were reeling. For all he was a study of magic and knowledgeable in the mystic arts, this seemed... absurd. Hel, and Valhala and all that should be myths; metaphors to explain cosmic forces. Even the Norns he had sought to contact had been considered an interface through which one could commute with time itself without having their mind unraveled.

“The Norns unraveled their tapestries; Muninn and Huginn helped change what was needed, a new combination of factors; I would guide the souls back to their new lives. In effect, a new  story was created. For you.” She laughed a mirthless laugh. “Of course, you were never easy to please, father.” She shook her head in dismay.  “I really thought the one before last would work. Of course, Odin always manages to go against the intent of the letter. Last time he didn't tell you where your were from.” She sighed. “It turned ugly quite quickly. It had been going so well before... At least now I got that right.” Loki’s thoughts were reeling, so he latched on to the easiest part.

“Where I am _from_? You mean my being a Jotunn? He tried to _hide_ it?" Taking a deep breath, Loki too a moment to wonder what type of idiot this... Other Loki, he defaulted to, had been. How could he not tell how comforting the cold was, how could he live any number of years without discovering how to easily shift between skins?

“We can't control everything, of course... just nudge things into place. But no matter what I do, you always go looking for my brothers. No matter how well I hide them. Even though you haven't birthed them for many lives now, the bond remains.”

“ _Birthed_?” Loki asked, aghast. Just as he thought he was beginning to wrap his head around it...

Hel sighed and surveyed Loki critically, tapping a long fingered nail against her chin in thought.

“I guess it can't really make things worse, and it is not explicitly against the rules...” She turned to the silent ravens, with a nod, and both took flight, settling each on an arm of Loki’s chair. They were big, more than such birds had any right to be, and Loki recoiled in fear despite himself as both lowered their heads to touch him with their beaks.  
And then the world suddenly exploded.

Flashes of anger, betrayal, loneliness, of him, it was always him, though it never looked the same. Sometimes his hair was red, sometimes he was much older or younger, the clothes changed, the people changed but then not, always a strange spark of recognition, even if the roles were wrong, if Thor wasn't his brother but his enemy, Laufey his mother, Odin his fatherbrotherfriend-

It was done in a moment, though it felt as though he had lived many lives in that breath.

And Loki understood. Understood how the strange complacency that had taken over him had been weaved. How the urgency had ebbed away, how Tony's theories seemed to slide off his mind like water from a duck's back, how his eyes had skipped over relevant information, how he had felt himself loose interest, began to accept it, no matter how against his nature something like that was.

He could see where there had been little nudges - gentle and not as much - biding him to _look away_ , _let it go_. He relived a thousand live’s worth of subtle manipulations and how he had pushed against them every single time, and how his mind had broken at it more often than not.

His mind felt quicker now, sharper, like he had been wadding through molasses before and now was free. He also felt stronger, his magic more alive than ever before - but, no, that wasn’t right. He could see himself, a God in truth and not only title, powerful enough to bend reality, and the same energy now flowed through his veins. He could see several interactions of himself, each one weaker than the last.

“It is good to see you whole again, Father,” Hel said, as if reading Loki’s mind. He felt a surge of affection for her, images of a small sickly babe, always different but always the same story, flashing through his mind.

“How many times?” Loki asked, hearing the power echo in his voice, feeling _right_. He could remember them all, but they were jumbled and confused; sometimes the same life was lived out several times. He could not quantify it easily. Hel shrugged unconcernedly.

“More than I care to count. But other than that, I can't really say. Sometimes I merely rewind and add little inconsequential changes, like last time; sometimes your lifespans are shorter - I thought that if you only had a mortal life, how much damage could you do? Didn't take you 30 years that time... - sometimes longer, though you have yet to manage to reach Odin's natural lifespan, whatever it is at the time,” her expression turned sadder. “Or Frigga's. She seems to always be the first one to go. The beginning of of the end.” Loki nodded. He remembered - Asgard turning to twilight, children no longer being born, crops no longer yielding. More than once, fixing this blight had been his motivation. More than once, causing it had been.

“The problem is, there are things that cannot change. The essence of those involved, the roles that you each play,” Hel looked away from Loki, sadness one more marring her features. “I am always death; Odin is order; Frigga is compassion, love, rebirth - it is why her death symbolizes the end.”

“And I,” Loki said, with sudden awareness, “Am trickery and mischief, betrayal and chaos, and _lies,_ ” he guessed with a somber finality.

“Yes, and no. Trickery and mischief do not have to have victims, chaos begets creation, betrayal can be a darker side of change and stories don’t have to be lies. You can be a force of good, father, but I... There is some balance I'm missing, some offset, a corresponding aspect that I'm yet to find," she sighed in frustration, her shoulders drawn in and up, her fingers twitching rhythmically, and Loki was surprised to see her mannerisms echo his own.

“And I run out of time, out of chances. The power I draw from my realm dwindles and the allowance to my meddling grows smaller with each cycle. Now I can only re-set small portions of time and space. This creates paradoxes, ripples in Fate... The Norns brush them out as needed, but they are becoming ever tired of cleaning up after me. Their threads fray much too soon from over-handling and the tapestry becomes unwieldy, the picture in it more unchanging with each new cycle.

“Soon my realm shall fall, and with it, me and the bargain I struck. There will be nothing to stop Ragnarök from finally occurring.”

Loki closed his eyes. Endless visions of the End - of his children, and chaos and death - appeared to him. He remember wanting it with every fiber of his soul, but he cannot recall a single instance of having been satisfied at the outcome. There is always regret.

When he opened his eyes, there was a eerie calm over them. His enemies would have run at the sight; Hel, his daughter, smile knowingly.

“What _exactly_ are the rules, then?” he asked, silkily, and her smile grew into a grin, matching the mischief in his.

***

He is idly away of Hel lending her now meager power to him and Huginn and Muninn, each perched on one of his shoulders, same as one is always somewhat aware of their breathing and beating heart. But his focus is solely devoted to the threads before him. They are worn and mistreated, and in many places he can see the way they used to twist before the last design was undone.

As Loki touches the thread, he summons his magic, to make it more pliable, and it's easy, so easy. He had always know he was unusually good at magic, but now he knows, he understands, he isn't a mere sorcerer, he is a God, and not any god, a god of creation and freedom, and there are no limits to his magic, he _is_ magic, and it flows, so easily, barely a though, unbridled through his fingers as he untangles and weaves and reshapes reality on a whim.

Loki can still taste the bitterness of many lives lived over in shadows, but he does not give in to it. He has seen what it can do to him, twist and turn and make him ugly and hateful. He doesn’t want this, not anymore, he is tired and all he needs is happiness. And his happiness cannot come at the cost of that of others, he has learned that as well, so he is merciful and kind as he waves.

He smiles, a secret smile, as he, with a second thought, pulls back one thread, just a little crooked, the seedling of a thought, an idea that doesn’t quite match.

Just a little trick, he thinks, as the last of his magic is consumed and the threads settle, forming a beautiful picture.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony adjusted his soldering mask one more time. He felt weird, like his vision was blurry, though it was not. Something was bugging him, like a half forgotten dream, or an idea had in the middle of a shower but vanished the moment he stepped through the door.

He rubbed his chest, self consciously. The dark lines had spread once more. There wasn’t much time left, and he still didn’t have a solution.

He needed to begin making plans. Final ones.

JARVIS had warned of the upcoming neurological effects. He hoped the strange sensation wasn’t a sign it had already began. He needed to be lucid for this. It wouldn’t do to go out like a misfiring firework. That wasn’t how he wanted to be remembered. He wanted to go out with a bang.

He heard the sound of a throat clearing and turned around, half expecting it to be Pepper, though he had not heard the trademark clicking of high heels. Maybe another neurological symptom?

Tony carefully set the soldering iron on the table - it wouldn’t do to burn himself to death before he was done with his affairs - and pushed the mask up, before turning around to face the sound.

He was surprised to see agent Agent standing there. Even more surprised to see him accompanied by a very non-agent looking youth.

He felt a weird prickling wave course through his lower abdomen and back as he surveyed the kid - definitively another neurological symptom.

He had a strange sense of not-so-quite déjà vu as he observed the newcomer. The kid - probably somewhere in his early twenties, maybe more if he was good about sunblock - wore skinny black jeans, heavy boots and a over-sized gray t-shirt, despite the somewhat chilly weather. His long black hair was tied back in a single, simple braid. Tony noticed the nails of his beringed fingers were incongruously black. He looked not unlike the droves of hipster kids Tony saw every day on the streets of New York - OK, maybe he looked better than about 90% of those kids - but for some reason Tony was struck with a sense of _wrong_. He had a flash of the same man wearing what looked like the weird child of a coat and a robe, long hair free, and for some reason that felt much better. Definitely neurological symptoms.

“...yes, what can I do for you on this fine evening, Agent?” Tony asked, after what - or so he gathered from Agent’s raised eyebrow - must have been far too long a pause.

“I think you will find, Mr. Stark, that it is what we - or, at least, my friend here, Mr. Laufeyson - can do for you.” At that, the kid - Laufeyson, was it? - smiled a grin filled with promises of mischief and great thing.

Tony couldn't  help smile back.

***

Many years later, Tony would deny it had been love at first sight. He would vehemently argue that the jolt of excitement he had felt whenever he had been around Loki - Laufeyson for that first few weeks - had been due to the prospect of a cure, and nothing more. He would argue that the strange sense of déjà vu and belonging had been heavily colored by palladium related neurological symptoms. He would say love had come later - to anyone still listening, he would say it had probably happened the first time Loki had joined his magic to Tony’s tech and they had created an explosion so big it had wiped out half of the new Avengers Compound.

Loki, however, would only smile and say, cryptically:

“No, not at _first_ sight.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not used to writing longer fic, so concrit is welcome! Also, if you missed it, check out itsfrostironsfault art for this fic, here: http://itsfrostironsfault.tumblr.com/post/153389052852/even-the-books-are-shippin-them-please-do-not
> 
> :)


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